Wake

Chapter 39

Vinny

I winced. He wouldn't believe me, but I hadn't wanted to do this to him. I hadn't wanted any of it to end this way.

Nura, beside me, shrunk away as I rose to my feet, her shoulders shuddering. I kept my eyes on Cian, watching him as he took a step back, then another, shaking his head. Tears budded in his eyes, a sorrowful spring shower just waiting to begin. I couldn't tell if he was more angry or devastated. All I knew was that he couldn't understand. He couldn't understand how much this took out of me, to hurt him like this. He couldn't understand.

"Cian," I said. I wanted to duck my head, to look away from the utter horror in his eyes, but I didn't. I lifted my chin, held his gaze. What I'd done hadn't been easy, but it had been right, and I knew it. "I'm sorry. I had to. For Lucie, for you, for—"

"I told you I didn't care," he hissed, taking another step back. Lucie, whimpering, caught at him, but he shook her grip away. "Vinny, I told you I didn't care! That I'd find another way—no—you can't be—you're not dead!"

"But Cian," I began, and never finished, because he was barreling up the stairs, past Nura and me and up to the catwalk. His shoulder should have knocked into mine, but it went through me, and I shivered. It had been so long since I'd been invisible. I'd forgotten just how hard it was.

"Cian!" I called, but he ignored me.

I turned, my eyes scanning Nura's before meeting Lucie's. Lucie was in a heap on the floor, her hands clutched against her chest, knees buckled. It would have been better, if she'd been sobbing—but she was silent save for a few horrid gasps, her eyes trained on nothing in particular. The despair within her seemed to be sucking the life from her; I watched as she sat there, giving nothing but broken cries as she struggled for air.

I closed my eyes. "Nura," I said. "Tell her I'm sorry. Please."

I stayed just long enough to see her nod, and then I was in my bedroom. I'd missed it, admittedly, being able to just appear places when I wanted.

Not that this was a time to really play around with any of that.

Caprice had broken the door down. Knobs, nails, and bolts all scattered across the wood flooring, my feet passing through them as I followed the rush of the running water and the chorus of weeps. Water was all over the floor, dripping, flooding, stretching outwards in little rivulets of clarity.

I came to the bathroom, the door to which I'd left swung open.

I wasn't sure what was more jarring: my body, lips blue, pallid eyelids shut, still streaked with water; or both Cian and my mother, cradling it while they trembled and cried.

Caprice was leaned against the vanity, half-turned away. She looked up as I came, and even in her gaze there was a quiet frustration. "Look what you've done, Lazarus," she whispered, and shook her head. "Oh, forget that. You're not coming back this time."

"It was the only way," I said, for what felt like the ten-thousandth time. But it was true. I'd started this, so I had to end it. "Please don't tell me you're mad."

Caprice scoffed. "Like you care how I feel, Vinny," she said. The fact that her tone was merely factual made it all worse. "Why would you, when you don't even care how your own brother feels? Your mom? Anyone?"

I sputtered. No. You did the right thing. "I—"

I was cut off when Cian let out a wail, pulling my body up against his chest, not caring about the lukewarm tap water soaking through his shirt. He squeezed his eyes shut, burying his face in my pulseless neck, the ends of his hair turned dark and slick. I couldn't tell what was tears and what was bathwater. Everything was a hazy blur.